


Nightmoves

by devilscut



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Batcave, Insomnia, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilscut/pseuds/devilscut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have been in the bunker/batcave only a matter of weeks and Dean can't seem to get any sleep at all.  His room is perfect, the bed has memory foam and the bunker has enough security that he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open all night.  So what's wrong?  Something's missing and he's so sleep deprived that he struggles to work it out, Sam's only too happy to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmoves

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my hard drive for a while, but I've only just had the nerve to post my first ever fan fic for another fandom only yesterday, and thought what the hell this story of the Winchester Boys needs to come out into the light of day too. 
> 
> Unbetaed and tweaked to within an inch of its life. 
> 
> ** It's all about Dean, always was - always will be. **

After much tossing and turning, Dean Winchester punched the crap out of his new pillow, telling himself it was to give it some proper shape, god damnit, and then maybe he could finally get some sleep. Twenty minutes later, giving it up as a lost cause, Dean lay flat on his back staring into the darkness. His eyes felt like they were lubricated with sand.

It was late. The red glaring numbers on his digital alarm clock told him so. Tormenting him. If force of will alone could make him fall asleep, he would’ve been Rip Van Winkling it hours ago. He was just so goddamn tired and the lack of sleep was making him edgy and.. yeah alright, he hated to admit it, but grumpy. “Old man” type grumpy. 

Guilt rippled through him, making him shift uneasily beneath the covers. He’d bitten off Sammy’s head and handed it to him on a platter more times than he cared to remember over the past few days. Over what?? Over nothing. Pissant stuff really, that he couldn’t even remember. What was worse, Sammy was being really goddamn noble about it and not biting back with his usual bitchy sarcasm, as if he knew that his big brother was struggling. Screw nobility. 

Rolling over, he buried his face in the beat up pillow. The memory foam mattress cupped him, held him like a baby, should’ve been making him sleep like one too considering how much it had cost. He’d bought it thinking maybe it was the original mattress on the bed frame that was giving him trouble sleeping. It had been too hard.. or was that too soft? Damnit, stupid lack of sleep and he couldn’t exactly remember which it was now. It had all made much more sense a couple of weeks ago when they’d first moved into the bunker, when Dean had scored his first bedroom since.. ever.

Man, he had it set up sweet too. What few things he possessed now had their own place and any future ones would too. His greatest treasure, the picture of mom and him that he’d had tucked away safe for all these years, that sat on the desktop where he could see it wherever he was in the room. His weapons hung on the far wall, close at hand if needed but not cluttering up his space. 

His space.. he still couldn’t believe it. When hadn’t he had to share his space, his room, his bed, his privacy? Not that he would change that. Hell no, Sammy was his brother and he loved him. He would do anything, give anything, share anything for that big moose. 

Lips quirking in the darkness, Dean wondered how Sammy was enjoying having his own room. They’d not really talked about it, which was unusual considering just how much Sammy liked to talk things out. Maybe it wasn’t as big a deal for him as it was for Dean, after all when Sammy had gone to Stanford he’d had his own room in an old shared student house. Dean knew because he’d gone and checked it out, just like he’d looked into the backgrounds of everyone that lived there. As far as Dean was concerned, breaking and entering his brother’s College room was simply an extension of keeping his Sammy safe.

Great. Now that he’d thought about his baby brother the urge to check on him, make sure he was safe here and now, was almost overwhelming. OCD much. 

Not that he didn’t check on him through the night anyway, but just because he couldn’t sleep he didn’t want to disturb Sammy’s rest. Their second night in their new home, he knew he had, when he’d cricked Sammy’s door open a notch to take a peek. There’d been a sleepy murmur of “Dean?.. you okay?” which had him backpedalling real quick, mumbling “Sorry, go back to sleep” not wanting his baby brother to know that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t okay. That he didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d bitten his tongue hard to stop a jumble of words from spilling out in a rush 'babyboycanIsleepinyourbedtonightplease?' Let’s see how noble Sammy would’ve been then, with his big brother trying to crawl into bed with him without an apocalypse, hellhounds or imminent death as an excuse.

After that, every night since, he just stood outside Sammy’s closed door listening to make sure his brother was safe. Only satisfied when he had strained his hearing to the point of being able to distinguish the faint sleep sounds Sammy made. The murmurs, the shallow breathing and the bed creaking. The sound of his brother coming. 

He’d lost track of which night it was that he’d started to walk away from his baby brother’s room when he thought he’d heard movement. Pausing he’d listened then gone back to stand near the door again when he’d heard it. A whisper at first “Dean” and he was about to break down the door knowing that was Sammy calling his name when it was followed by a moan that sent shivers down his spine. After all these years sharing close quarters, Dean knew all too intimately the sounds of his Sammy getting off and boy was he ever. 

“Dean.. Dean.. God I love you.” The words were harsh and ground out, thick with desire repeated over and over and Dean was frozen, listening feeling a wave of heat rise throughout his body until the final hoarse “Dean” and he knew his Sammy was coming and Dean felt like the top of his head was going to explode and his stomach muscles clenched and convulsed so hard he had to bite his lip to stop the moan that wanted to burst out. It was a few moments later that Dean realised that his boxers were clinging wetly to his groin, his dick and thighs slick. He’d come without even being touched. Come just at the sound of his brother’s voice. He’d stumbled back to his bedroom then, stripping out of his soiled clothes wiping himself off and climbed into his bed shivering under the covers, tasting blood in his mouth from his bitten lip.

He rubbed his eyes now, wishing he could push his fingers into his brain and pluck out that memory, it was like having a crocodile lurking just under the calm smooth waters of his mind and every now and then it would surface, try and take a bite, take a hold until he could push it back down again. Denial, not just a river in Egypt but the Dean Winchester number one choice in avoidance, his memory was chock full of a lifetime of such crocodiles that he could push away with it. But, this one was downright dangerous, because it wouldn’t stay put, kept coming back when he was least expecting it.

Each night since, he’d told himself he didn’t need to go and check. No, he was going to be a rock this time. Wouldn’t go. Determined, he lay there unmoving.

The rock crumbled in not even ten minutes. Dean threw back the covers cursing. Bare feet padding softly on the floor as he walked to his bedroom door. The hallway had emergency lighting when the main overheads were switched off, softly illuminating the way. It was reasonably warm, the heating was pretty good considering the size of the bunker, for which he was grateful considering he was wearing only a t shirt and boxers.

Fuck. Ice trickled the length of his spine when he saw that Sammy’s bedroom door was ajar for the first time in the past couple of weeks. Why hadn’t he brought his gun? What the fuck was he thinking? Cursing himself, he’d let his guard down thinking they were safe there, regardless of the salt and wards. When were they ever safe? They were Winchesters. 

There was no way he was turning back now, if something had gotten in, was hurting his Sammy, it was going to find out the hard way what it felt like to be torn apart by bare hands. 

Moving closer, heart thumping loudly in his ears, Dean peeked into his brother’s bedroom. A loud rattling noise made him jump, startled, Dean bumped the door slightly with his shoulder and it swung open wider. Son of a bitch. So much for stealth. 

The dim light from the hallway fell across the kingsize bed that they had to buy so his gigantor brother didn’t have his feet hanging off the end of the old one. Sammy was sprawled across it like some giant mutant starfish, limbs flung out wide, head tilted back and mouth slack as another rattling snore erupted. 

Dean looked the room over, checking the ceiling and corners. Thank God. There was nothing there. Apart from books, piles and piles of them stacked against the walls almost shoulder high. They surrounded the massive bed, which took up most of the room, and its occupant. Sammy, the human buzzsaw. 

Holy Texas chainsaw massacre. Dean bit his lower lip, fighting an almost hysterical urge to giggle, ‘cause badasses just didn’t, it was an unwritten law or something.

The sheets were twisted low around his big baby brother revealing his massive bare chest, the tattoo there rising and falling with each breath. Sammy ran hot when he slept, Dean knew that all too well, simply from being at his side over the years. No matter the temperature Sammy was a furnace. He missed that warmth.

Everything was okay. His brother was safe, the bunker was still a sanctuary and Dean’s legs wanted to give way in relief, they felt so weak. He gave into the urge, planting his ass on the hallway floor leaning against the wall and letting the air slowly drain from his lungs in a huge sigh.

Tipping his head back letting it thunk hollowly on the wall behind him, Dean closed his eyes letting the tension ease out of his body. The bed creaked softly and the sudden end to the buzzsaw snoring signalled Sammy had shifted in his sleep, to a new quieter position.

In the silence of the hallway with his eyes shut, Dean finally figured it out. What that something was that had been missing in his room, that had kept him awake night after night, knowing it just didn’t feel right. It was Sammy. 

Why it hadn’t dawned on him earlier he didn’t know? This was exactly how it had been when Sammy was at Stanford. The lack of sleep, the edginess that rode him hard knowing that a part of him was missing like a limb was gone, but still able to feel it. Feel it, each and every day, an open wound.

Apart from when he’d actually lost Sammy to death and the cage, those four years had been the longest, suckiest of his life. Every morning, looking into the mirror and seeing bloodshot, pain filled eyes in a face so ravaged with grief and loss he barely recognised it. 

Dean could hear Sammy breathing. In and out, like clockwork, air entering and leaving Sammy’s lungs. The soft sleep sounds he made were soothing to Dean’s ears, the murmurs and snuffles, the cool cotton dragging across hot skin, even the creak of the bed frame. For so many years now those sounds meant his baby brother was alive, that he was safe and that Dean could rest for a short while.

Now that he’d worked it out, maybe he could convince himself that he didn’t need his brother as some sort of weird ass 6’4 pacifier. Maybe he could record him, yeah that could work. He’d heard of those sleep cd’s that had stuff like whales singing and chimes and shit, so why not his brother. Sammy could be his very own whale.

He should really go back to his own bed, but his eyelids felt weighed down and his brain felt fuzzy. Relaxing completely, trying not to think anymore, his head rolling loosely on his neck. Just a couple of minutes and then he’d move. Yeah, just a couple.. He was gone.

Dean didn’t hear the bed in the other room creak as a large body shifted across it and he was totally unaware that Sam stood in his bedroom door way, cotton boxers slung low on the defining cut of his hips, for a good five minutes simply watching him. Sam’s eyes were stinging, blinking rapidly he couldn’t stop looking at his big brother. Dean’s face was peaceful and relaxed, it was the most beautiful thing that Sam had ever seen in his life.

Ever since he’d heard Dean’s bedroom door open, he’d been waiting to see what would happen. The anticipation had just about killed him. It had been safer to pretend to be in a deep sleep. He just might have overdone it a bit with the snoring though, his sinuses still tingling from overuse. But, Dean was skittish and if he realised his brother was awake it would send him scurrying back to his room and that was something Sam couldn’t allow.

Sam’s chest was tight and there was a deep ache right about where his heart muscle lay beneath the bone, he rubbed his chest trying to soothe it. Dean was curled up asleep on the hallway floor, across the threshold of Sam’s room, even unconscious he was trying to protect him, guard him. Crouching down, Sam gently pulled Dean into his arms and lifted, the ache in his chest disappearing at the feel of his brother pressed tight against him. 

“Sammy.. what?” Dean struggled to open his eyes feeling himself being carried all too easily. It started to freak him out feeling like a little kid again and he pushed at the hot, hard chest trying to break free.

“Ssshhh. It’s okay Dean.” The words were spoken against his temple, warm breath and burning lips on his skin. It was like a drug, he relaxed completely, his brother, his Sammy would never drop him. Would never let him go. There was safety and peace in his arms.

“Strong.. like a sasquatch.” He mumbled the words against Sammy’s neck, closing his eyes again.

“Tiny.. like a girl.” Sam replied automatically.

“Bitch.” A jaw cracking yawn and Dean’s moist warm breath blew against Sam’s neck and earlobe. Instinctively, Sam crushed Dean tighter to his chest, making his brother wince. Forcing himself to loosen his hold, he realised that Dean’s eyelids were cracked open watching him expectantly.

“Jerk.” Sam croaked out. Dean nodded in approval, his eyes closing again.

Gently lowering Dean onto the kingsize bed, Sam pulled the sheet over him, before turning and shutting the door letting darkness swallow the room.

“Sammy.” Dean called out, panicked, thinking his brother had left. Exhaustion and the overwhelming revelation that he needed his brother in ways that simply didn’t allow him to be the cool, in control Dean Winchester that he thought he was, had him struggling to sit up. He needed Sammy. Needed him within reach.

“It’s okay. De, I’m here.” Sam slid into the bed from the other side, pulling the sheet over his hips.

“Oh.. okay.” Dean collapsed back down, sprawling on his stomach, reached out his hand along the bed seeking and finding Sammy’s ribs, idly stroking the skin. Sammy jerked away from temptation with a loud, harsh breath, but Dean was relentless his hand chasing after him until his brother was practically teetering on the far edge of the bed.

“Sammy.. just let me.. need to feel you.. breathe. Know.. you’re safe.” Curling his fingers, Dean just let his knuckles rest there against the heat, feeling each rapid breath Sammy took. “Mine.. to protect.. mine.” A bone deep sigh left his body as all the tension, all the fear evaporated and sleep washed over him.

Sam lay there for a long time trembling, letting the feel of Dean’s hand against his side soak in, Dean’s words looping over and over in his head. God yes, he was Dean’s, belonged to him always. There were days he felt it couldn’t be more clear, that he was branded “property of Dean Winchester”. His brother owned him heart and soul. 

When he felt Dean was in the deepest sleep possible, his breathing steady and even, he moved. Gathering his brother close in his arms, his chest became Dean’s pillow. He stifled the groans that welled in his throat. It had been so long since he’d felt Dean against him this way. Sam tenderly kissed the top of his head enjoying the feel of the short, spiky hair brushing against his lips. 

Thank god. He didn’t think he could go another night not having Dean near him. Not being able to reach across and touch him had about killed him. Even when they travelled on the road, whether it was double queens or a shared king, it had been so easy to stretch across the divide and brush his fingers across his sleeping brother’s hand or rub a thumb across full chapped lips.

When they had decided to move into the bunker it had never even occurred to Sam that they would be sleeping separately. But when he saw how excited Dean was about “finally” having his own room he couldn’t bring himself to say how lonely he was finding his. 

Then on their second night Sam had been dozing lightly when Dean had opened the door. For just one instant he’d seen a similar loneliness and longing on Dean’s face that had his heart racing. Every night since then Sam had seen the shadow that appeared under the bottom of his bedroom door and knew that his brother was outside. Standing so still, waiting, listening for him. 

Each time that the shadow had moved away and he’d heard his brother moving back down the hallway to his own room, the disappointment had almost made him throw up, his stomach churning. One night he’d found himself standing by his door after the shadow had gone, not even recalling getting out of bed, his hand on the doorknob about to pull it open, charge out and grab his brother. Grab him and drag him back to his bed and just keep him there. Dean wasn’t ready for that, not yet anyway, sometimes Sam even wondered if he was. 

He’d stumbled away from the door, throwing himself onto his bed dragging his boxers down and gripped the hard aching flesh, stroking and cursing, moaning “Dean.. Dean.. God..I love you” over and over and he was coming. Back bowing, balls contracting hard forcing the come down the length of his cock until it burst from the tip and he cried out his big brother’s name one last time. Slick hot fluid landing on his stomach and chest, wishing all the time that it was Dean’s come he was wearing, tasting and it felt like that was never ever going to happen. An impossible dream and Sam had felt like he was going to cry. Not even realising he was, until salt water pooled in the grooves by his mouth that Dean called his dimples knowing it would get a rise out of him, before it trickled against his lips.

He groaned and pulled Dean in even closer. It was so unbelievably hot and frustrating, never knowing if Dean would open that door again or not. Until finally Sam had left it open. Dean mumbled under his breath something like “stopmovingbabyboy” and nuzzled his face against Sam’s pec, warm plump lips brushing across the nipple.

Sam died or it damn near felt like it as his back arched uncontrollably. He was hard and aching, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. Sucking in some very shaky breaths he tried to calm himself down. He wasn’t sure if it was the feel of Dean’s mouth on his body or just hearing the words babyboy in that sleepy, sensual rasp that was playing on all his nerve endings, but it was a struggle not to respond in kind and then some.

But, Dean was exhausted, the red rimmed eyes he’d worn over the past couple of weeks were painful to look at. Eventually, Sam calmed down enough that he wasn’t panting anymore. Still hard, but what else was new. He was hard more often than not when he was around Dean. 

Was he taking advantage? Damn right, he was. Who knew if and when this would happen again? Sam loved Dean. Loved him like a brother, was in love with him as a man with all his heart and soul. 

Having him sleep in his arms tonight after thinking it would never happen again was like a dream. Would it make it harder not to speak his true feelings aloud? Possibly, but for now he was content to simply feel Dean against his side.

Smiling in the darkness, Sam felt rising hope that this wouldn’t be the only time that they would share this bed. Dean had believed him entirely when he told him he needed a new one to fit his big frame comfortably. Which was true, but it also needed to fit his brother beside him as well.


End file.
